


Wasteland, Baby!

by Jingletown



Category: 2NE1, EXID (Band), EXO (Band), Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4, K-pop, Mamamoo, SEVENTEEN (Band), SHINee, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS, 소녀시대 | Girls' Generation | SNSD, 여자친구 | GFriend (Band)
Genre: Apocalypse, F/F, F/M, Fallout, M/M, What does one tag?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-27 13:18:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18739831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jingletown/pseuds/Jingletown
Summary: A collection of short stories from the Commonwealth. Multiple bands, multiple pairings, every idol I could figure out how to include.Set in the Fallout 4 universe and partially inspired by Hozier's album.





	1. Mingyu/Seungcheol/Jessica/Jungkook/Yuju

Mingyu’s whole body hurt.

He stretched his long legs, cracked his aching joints, rotated his shoulders like he was shaking off the rust. He groaned like an old man, jostling his head from side to side as he tried to pop his neck.

Sleeping on the ground was getting old.

Ah, what he wouldn’t give for a smelly, flea-ridden mattress on the floor of a filthy Goodneighbor motel. What he wouldn’t give for a cot on the streets of Diamond City. What he wouldn’t give for just a slightly better sleeping bag.

But he hadn’t woken up because of the pain. In all honesty, he’d gotten used to it. Those days, his body was more callus than bruise, more scar tissue than scab. All of his injuries were old ones, every twinge of pain a dull reminder of the battles he’d won and lost.

That morning he awoke because Jungkook often spoke too loudly.

“Do you think Sunny is hot?” he asked. He was fifteen feet away, squatting near the fire Seungcheol had started at dawn. They’d stumbled upon some stale, crappy instant coffee at a Super Duper Mart and Jungkook had quickly grown addicted to the caffeine. As he bounced his weight back and forth between his heels and toes, he sloshed his drink around a dinged-up aluminum cup. “I mean, we’ve never seen her but she _sounds_ hot, right?”

Jessica was beside him. Yuju, it appeared, was still asleep, her sleeping bag pulled tightly over her head. Seungcheol was too far away for Mingyu to see what he was doing, a vaguely leader-shaped blog on the horizon, pacing, probably looking for trouble. (Or, more likely, ways to keep them out of it.)

By the time Mingyu washed up (his on-the-road routine was the same: wake up, stretch, clean his face with a slightly-too-sticky-to-ever-feel-clean wet wipe, gargle mouthwash, pee behind the nearest tree), Seungcheol was back by the fire and Yuju was awake.

“On the show,” Jungkook went on, “she’s said she has red hair. Do you think that’s true?”

Jessica was sitting on a log she’d pulled from the woods the night before. She was eating something orange but Mingyu couldn’t tell what it was. What had they scavenged that was orange?

“Would Sunjinks really be _that_ much better if she was hot?” she asked easily.

“What is Sunjinks?” Seungcheol asked. He poked the embers with a long stick and Jungkook looked personally offended.

“Do you _ever_ listen when I talk?” he asked petulantly.

“Honestly?” quipped Seungcheol. “No. I’m usually trying to make sure we don’t die.”

Jungkook pouted and Yuju, from still inside her sleeping bag, interjected, sounded sleepy and agitated, “Sunjinks is that radio show he likes. The hosts are a girl named Sunny and a guy named Jinki. It’s basked out of Diamond City.”

Seungcheol nodded knowingly but Mingyu could tell he’d already stopped listening.

“Why does it matter if she’s hot?” Mingyu asked, moving to join the circle around the fire. Their entire stash, an army green backpack full of whatever edible foods they came across in the Commonwealth, was open beside Jessica. He grabbed a can of something, pried off the top and cast it aside. Canned beef ravioli. Better than the chili but not as good as the baked beans. Without looking up, Jessica plucked his spoon from her bag and handed it to him. He nodded in thanks but she wasn’t paying him any actual attention.

“Because he has a crush on her,” Yuju said. She was finally standing, struggling to brush all the dingy dirt from the canvas of her sleeping bag. “He doesn’t want to have a crush on an _ugly_ _girl._ Don’t you know, Mingyu? That’d be a sin.”

“I don’t have a crush on her!” Jungkook protested. He was nearly as big as Mingyu and easily just as strong but every now and again, Jungkook reminded the group of his age. Eighteen was eighteen whether you were eighteen in the wasteland or eighteen in some cushy vault. “I’m just _asking_. Jesus. Can’t a guy ask questions?”

“I think she’s ugly,” Yuju said. She was a shit-stirrer, someone who liked to start trouble just for the fuck of it. Mingyu was convinced that, wherever she was from, she’d been the oldest child. With the way she liked to torture Jungkook, she _had_ to be an older sister. “Think about it. She’s on the radio, right? They only put ugly people on the radio.”

Jessica snorted.

“Two-hundred years ago, maybe,” she said. “You know, when there were TVs.”

“This conversation is stupid,” Seungcheol said. “Can we talk business for a second?”

Yuju and Mingyu found seats around the fire while Jungkook pouted and muttered under his breath. Seungcheol produced a torn, crumpled map from his back pocket. Pointing to the spot just left of the river, he said, “We’re here.” He dragged his finger to the middle of the map. “Diamond City is here.” He smirked that same smug, all-knowing sideways smirk and asked, “Thoughts?”

Mingyu raised his hand.

“I think it sucks,” he said.

Seungcheol’s smirk grew into a smile.

“Thanks for your input, kid,” he said. “Anyone else?”

Jessica reached for the map.

“How many days away?”

“Best case scenario? Two. More realistic? Probably three-and-a-half. Maybe four. This map is pretty old. We don’t know what stands between us and Diamond City. I could be taking us through a giant deathclaw nest for all we know.”

He was trying to be cute but Jessica ignored him in favor of being practical.

“And how much food do we have left?”

Seungcheol cocked his head to the side and clicked his tongue.

“About a day’s worth,” he said. “We’re going to have to find some places to loot, maybe a Super Duper Mart, maybe an old commune or something. But that’s going to slow us down.”

“Starving to death might also slow us down,” Yuju said. “We’re scraping the bottom of the barrel as it is. What are you eating anyway, Jessica? Carrots?”

Jessica peered into her bowl and her face grew pale.

“I try not to think about it,” she said.

“Am I the only one who thinks it’s weird deathclaws lay eggs?” Jungkook piped up.

Seungcheol’s lips pressed themselves into a thin line and he clamped his hand down onto Jungkook’s shoulder lovingly before continuing, unfazed.

“There’s supposed to be an old community college about a half-a-day’s walk from here. It’s on our way. We can check there for supplies. If we’re really lucky, we might even get to sleep in some old dorm beds.”

“Yes!” Mingyu exclaimed pointing excitedly to the map. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. Did you say _beds_?”

Seungcheol’s eyes sparkled in the morning sun. “That’s what I said, yeah.”

“Then what the heck are we waiting for?” He scrambled to his feet, tripping over Jessica’s log in a hasty attempt to reach his bags. “Come on. Let’s go! Beds await!”

Jessica laughed like something was funny and Seungcheol licked his lips, standing up and patting Mingyu’s back the way he’d patted Jungkook.

“Couple more minutes,” he said. “I just want to check some things out before we go. Pack up, okay?”

They broke down their campsite, then busied themselves with morning chores. They ate, they cleaned, they packed their things. When it was almost time to go, Jungkook looked up from his bag and asked Mingyu, “Do you think Sunny’s hot?”

Mingyu fought a smile. Jungkook was something of the little brother he’d never had. (Well, Mingyu _had_ had a brother once but he didn’t like to think about that now. It hurt him too much.) He was annoying but he was an asset to their team. He was a teenager who had been on his own for a long time. He never talked about what he’d seen or what he’d done to survive but they’d all seen his scars, heard him cry in his sleep. The least Mingyu could do was humor him.

“Well, if I’m being honest,” Mingyu began, his dark eyes roaming the horizon until he found Seungcheol near the tree line, “redheads aren’t really my type.” He licked his lips, biting the inside of his cheek and telling his heart that now wasn’t the time. He looked down, saw Jungkook’s hopeful face, realized that he, too, could use a little dose of hope in his life, then said, “Yeah, buddy. I do think she’s hot. Maybe when we get to Diamond City, maybe you can meet her.”

Jungkook’s eyes lit up, reminding Mingyu of a puppy he’d had once.

“Yeah,” he said, grinning ear-to-ear. “Maybe we can meet her.” He threw his head back and laughed, his eyes disappearing as his smile grew even bigger. He clapped his hands together and said, “I’m going to go help Seungcheol so we can get out of here.” He pumped his fists in the air and cheered, “Diamond City!”

He scurried away like an excitable kid and Jessica came up alongside Mingyu to say, “That was sweet.”

Mingyu blinked.

“I guess,” he said.

“He’s cute,” Jessica chirped, nodding her chin towards Jungkook who was borderline _skipping_ to where Seungcheol stood examining whatever it was he thought needed examining.

“Yeah,” Mingyu sighed, scratching the back of neck and watching the way Seungcheol paced. “He is.” Realizing that Jessica was still beside him and suddenly looking in his direction, Mingyu cleared his throat, begging his body to bury the blush that was threatening to creep up his neck. Seungcheol and Jungkook were on their way back, the former looking satisfied and the latter jogging to gather his things. They’d wrapped up whatever it was they’d been doing at the edge of the woods and Mingyu was suddenly itching to hit the road. He cleared his throat again. “Should we get going?”

Jessica grinned wryly, knowingly, but because it was neither the time nor the place, and because she wanted to save this conversation for a later date, she just slugged his shoulder and said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”


	2. LE/Solji

With her naked form illuminated by the sickly moonlight shining in through the window, Hyojin thought maybe she liked Goodneighbor after all.

It certainly wasn’t where she’d started her journey (she’d bounced around from shanty settlements to crappy tato farms, even spending an agonizingly slow few months in Diamond City) but it sure was where she’d ended up. Her “apartment” was a two-room shithole on top of a warehouse that was more-than-likely a triggerman whorehouse but the rent was cheap. (It was Goodneighbor – the rent was always cheap.)

Solji stood by the window, staring intensely out into the night and Hyojin didn’t have the heart to tell her that anyone scoring chems down on the street could easily look up and see her so she kept her mouth shut. The people in Goodneighbor generally kept to themselves anyway.

Hancock made sure of that.

“It’s almost pretty at night,” Solji said. Her red hair cascaded down her back but Hyojin’s eyes always seemed to roam elsewhere. “Almost.”

“I assure you,” Hyojin said from where she lay on her sagging mattress, “ _you_ are the only pretty thing in Goodneighbor.”

Solji smirked.

“Smooth,” she said.

Hyojin shrugged, considering a cigarette but deciding against it. Solji was smart and Solji was hot but Solji was a notorious complainer. Goodneighbor was dirty, Goodneighbor was seedy, the prices were too high (even at Daisy’s Discounts!) and everyone smelled bad.

“What vault were you from again?” Hyojin asked. She was laying on her side, elbow against the mattress, fist against her cheek. “88?”

Solji shook her head, eyes still pointed out the window.

“78,” she corrected. “The one in Boston.” She was pensive for a moment but then waved her hand dismissively and said, “But that’s behind me now. It doesn’t matter.”

It mattered to Hyojin.

Solji was a complainer because Solji grew up underground, safely beneath millions of tons of soil and protected by reinforced steel. She had clean water, uncontaminated food, formal schooling, parental supervision, quality healthcare, a safe place to lay her head at night.

She didn’t have a single scar on her entire body. (And Hyojin knew that to be fact. The lighting in her two-bedroom shithole was shoddy and dim but she’d still seen every single inch of Solji’s body more than once and it was flawless in both hyperbolic and literal senses.)

Solji was new to the Commonwealth, new to the wasteland. She was tough and that was the thing that had drawn Hyojin to her. But she wasn’t looking for a relationship. Hyojin had no interest in romance. She wasn’t looking to woo or court anyone. She was a hard worker. She had two real jobs in Goodneighbor and a handful of side hustles to help keep food in the fridge and bullets in her rifle. Sure, she technically lived in Goodneighbor but she was constantly traveling, making runs to and from Diamond City and Covenant and even Bunker Hill. She’d stop to help settlers along the way, taking odd jobs and fighting Raiders in exchange for caps and food.

She’d broken bones (both her own and other people’s), split lips, lost chunks of hair and flesh, gotten shot, gotten stung, gotten bitten, spilled all kinds of blood. She had more scars on her body than she could count. (She’d been self-conscious about it once but those days were behind her. Scars meant that she survived, that she bested her opponent and emerged victorious. Scars meant that she’d healed. Scars meant that she was _alive_. And besides, chicks dug scars.)

“Did you like living in a vault?” Hyojin asked. She’d flipped onto her back, staring at the intricate pattern of cracks and mold on the ceiling. As a kid, she’d often fantasized about life inside of a vault. She’d been afraid of the dark and her most frequent and most joyous of daydreams all seemed to be illuminated by the bright, almost sterile fluorescent light she imagined lived inside every vault. (She’d made a few deliveries to Vault 81, almost pleasantly surprised to see that she’d imagined them perfectly as a kid. The lights really _were_ that bright. No monsters, no mutants, no bad guys could hide in a vault.) The sheet only covered her lower body and Hyojin stretched unabashedly, not at all concerned about the jagged lines that cut through her skin.

“I used to,” Solji said, her words punctuated with a sigh. “But it was too much. It was too restrictive. I was twenty-six before I ever saw the sun with my own eyes, Hyojin.” She licked her lips. “But I know what you think.”

“And what’s that?”

“That I’m a spoiled vault kid who doesn’t know shit about the wasteland. That I’m stupid for ever leaving the safety of a vault to come out here and be some lowlife scavenger.”

“I don’t think that,” Hyojin said. “I’ve seen you fight. You hold your own. You know you way around a rifle. That’s plenty.”

“You think I haven’t paid my dues.”

Hyojin scoffed.

“What dues?” she asked. “What do you think this is? The Commonwealth is about survival. Nothing else. You’re still here, Solji. That means you’ve survived and _that_ means you’ve paid your dues. Why do you care what I think anyway?”

Solji shrugged.

“I’m sleeping with you,” she said. “Shouldn’t that count for something?”

Another scoff.

“Not if you don’t want it to.”

No one spoke a while.

Hyojin closed her eyes with absolutely no intention of going to sleep. She was an insomniac. Years of sleeping in the Commonwealth had thoroughly fucked her over. She was a light sleeper, a nervous sleeper. Every single creak, every gust of wind, every snapped twig sent her diving for her gun. But Goodneighbor was safe enough. (Still, she had a triple deadbolt on her front door. There was no such thing as _too much_ safety.)

She just wanted to rest.

She’d just finished a run with Jonghyun, Jongdae and Minghao, three Goodneighbor residents who weren’t exactly cream-of-the-crop citizens (one was a drug addict, one was an aspiring triggerman and one was just an idiot), worked a shift at The Third Rail, then gone three rounds with one former-vault-dweller Heo Solji.

And still, it’d be hard to sleep.

“Why do you even hang out with me?” Solji asked and Hyojin swallowed the sigh that was building in her throat. Solji was like this sometimes, oversensitive and too in-her-head. Hyojin had an inkling that it was due to her sudden isolation. She’d grown up surrounded by people. She was used to people and safety. Now she tended to travel alone. All sorts of threats lurked in the wasteland, everything from radroaches to super mutants to savage deathclaws. She wasn’t used to the amount of adrenaline her body was constantly producing and it caused her to retreat into herself. And when she did that, she grew paranoid – about everything.

“You look cute when you come,” Hyojin said bluntly.

Solji snorted, a combination of genuine laughter and embarrassment.

“Stop,” she said. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” said Hyojin, struggling to get herself up so that she was sitting. “Seriously, have you ever seen yourself? Maybe not but you’ve _heard_ yourself come, right? You’re loud. The triggermen downstairs complain sometimes but I tell they, ‘hey, I listen your automatic gunfire all day’ But it’s cute. Charming, even.”

Solji glared at her, still fully nude, still backlit by the moon that somehow seemed to be creeping closer and closer day by day.

“I’m genuinely asking.”

Now Hyojin _did_ sigh, unable to stop herself.

“What do you want, Solji? Honestly. You’re hot. You’ve always been hot. I saw you at The Third Rail and I thought, _damn, I want to fuck that girl’s brains out_. And I did. But you’re also easy to be around, okay? You’re smart enough. You’re clever. You’re pretty funny for someone who grew up underground. You’ve got a good right hook. That’s enough.” Solji’s smile was just barely visible and Hyojin immediately gestured for her to stop. “Don’t get it twisted, Red. This isn’t a relationship. We’re not dating. We are, best case scenario, friends-with-benefits when you’re in town. This isn’t a pep talk and these aren’t sweet nothings. You want to know why I fuck with you? It’s because you’re the smartest person in Goodneighbor _not_ named Hyojin or Hancock. And frankly, your oral game is out of this world. Seriously, who were you fucking in the vault? Whose pussy were you eating? Or who was eating yours? Could you contact them? Call them? Something. I want to meet them.”

Solji’s blush made her glow red even in the low light but there was a smile on her lips.

“Ah. Don’t be vulgar.”

Hyojin clicked her tongue.

“Commoners from the Commonwealth,” she said, laying back and tucking both arms behind her head. “What can I say? Bom says we talk dirty because the city is so dirty.”

“Bom?” Solji asked. Her nose wrinkled and Hyojin raised an eyebrow. “You’re friends with the chem dealer?”

Hyojin snorted in a mixture of derision and disbelief.

“Christ, do you hear yourself?” she asked. “Look, Solji, you’re a good fighter and you’ve managed to keep yourself alive in the Commonwealth and I salute you for that. But you do need to leave all that judgmental bullshit in the vault. You know how you grew up with electricity and running water? You know how none of your friends have ever been eaten by a deathclaw? You know how you’ve never puked to the point of tearing your esophagus from radiation? That all means you’re extremely lucky. For those of us who aren’t, chems keep us from eating our fucking pistols.” She shook her head and blew blonde hair out of her face. “It’s a real nice high horse you’ve got there,” she cooed, “but it’s time to lead him back to the stables. He’s probably very tired.”

“ _Those of us_?” Solji repeated after a minute. “You’re on chems, too?”

Hyojin shrugged.

“Sometimes,” she said, then reconsidered. “Only when I’m in Goodneighbor. Both of my jobs suck and there isn’t a lot else to do here. Jet makes everything tolerable. But I don’t fuck with anything other than the occasional hit of Psycho when I’m out on a run. When I’m roaming the Commonwealth, I’m straight.”

Solji laughed out loud.

“You?” she said. “Straight?”

That brought a smile to Hyojin’s face.

“See?” she said, grinning. “You’re funny.” She rolled over to check the clock that sat on her nightstand. (Her nightstand was an upside-down Nuka Cola crate.) The night was still young and Hyojin still wasn’t tired. “Hey, I’m wired. You want to go get a drink or something? Some food? There’s a guy near the other warehouse that cooks a mean mole rat burger”

Solji shook her head.

“I need to get back,” she said. “I’m heading out in the morning.”

“Anywhere good?”

Solji gesticulated in the empty space, seemingly unsure while she searched for her clothes.

“Maybe,” she said. “I know a guy. He used to live in the vault with me. We’re heading back towards Lexington.”

“You’re not fucking with the Minutemen, are you?”

Solji was halfway dressed and Hyojin was more than halfway disappointed.

“No,” she said. “We’re just looking for fusion cores.”

“Be careful out there. Lexington can be dangerous. You won’t be the only two looking for fusion cores this time of year.”

Zipping her pants, Solji grinned.

“What?” she teased. “You worried about me or something? You aren’t, by chance, starting to care about me, are you?”

Hyojin guffawed, waved her off, rolled her eyes.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said. “It’d just be a real hassle if I had to break in a new fuck-buddy right now. Unless, of course, you can bring me your friend from the vault, the one who taught you how to do that thing with your tongue.”

Solji gave her the finger, laughed, and threw a shoe at her. Hyojin threw it right back.

“You’re obscene,” she said, “and I’m going home.”

“ _Home_ is Hotel Rexford which might be the only place in Goodneighbor that’s shittier than this dump.”

Solji cocked her head to the side, watching Hyojin very closely.

“Ahn Hyojin,” she accused after a beat, “are you asking me to spend the night?”

Hyojin bit the inside of her cheek.

She was. But how did she explain to someone like Solji, someone who was sheltered and sensitive and inexperienced both in the wasteland _and_ in love, that her offer to spend the night was made from a place of practical concern and not romantic attraction?

Solji was charging into the valley of death with another inexperienced vault-dweller. For all Hyojin knew, this would be the last time she’d ever see her. She didn’t want Solji to say because she had deep, intense feelings romantic for her but because she’d learned, time and time again, that it was important to spend as much time as possible with the people you liked while you still could. (Not loved but _liked_. Hyojin had lost more people she liked than people she loved and that, somehow, always seemed to hurt more.)

She swallowed hard, choosing her words carefully.

“Stay the night,” she said, “and I’ll head up to Lexington with you in the morning. Jonghyun is probably going to want to tag along since he has armor to trade but I’d like to make sure you get there safe. It isn’t an easy road and if you don’t know your way around…” Her voice trailed off. She’d lost two friends on that very route and it haunted her. She still dreamt about it. Since then, she’d learned everything there was to know about Lexington. She knew the best shortcuts, the spots to avoid, the trade hubs, the places raiders liked to hide out. “In the interest of safety, and trading, let me go with you. Consider it a thank-you for all the orgasms.”

Solji was fighting a smile while Hyojin fought the regret building in her gut.

Was this a mistake?

Even if it was, what else could she say? How else could she make it clear to Solji that, while she harbored no romantic feelings for her, she _did_ still want her to make it? She didn’t want a girlfriend and she damn sure didn’t want anything more than sex and banter from Solji, but she also didn’t want her to get eaten by a radscorpion.

Solji was smart and Solji was hot but Solji was so damn naïve.

Solji didn’t understand because she hadn’t lost anyone yet.

She didn’t understand _now_ but, unfortunately, one day, she would.

And until then, if stringing her along was what it took to keep her alive, Hyojin was willing to do it.

She’d certainly done a lot more for people she liked a lot less.

“Okay,” Solji said. “You’ve sold me. I’ll stay.”

Hyojin took a breath. (Why did she suddenly feel so relieved? How was it possible to feel relieved and nauseous all at once?)

“Good,” she said. “You can sleep on the couch.”

Solji stared right through her, eyes narrowed.

“You don’t _have_ a couch.”

Hyojin smiled. Solji took off her shirt and threw it at her.

“You better not snore,” Solji said, stripping down to her underwear and joining Hyojin in bed.

“Even if I do,” said Hyojin, “what are you going to do about it?”

Mindlessly, Solji traced one of the scars that ran across Hyojin’s torso. She shivered but they both pretended that she didn’t.

“Not a thing,” she admitted. Hyojin bit her lip, looked away, and remembered back to her days trapped in the Commonwealth. After a beat, Solji added, “Hyojin? Thanks.”

Hyojin wasn’t sure what specifically that was for and so she ignored it, settling in as comfortably as she could.

It had been a while since she’d shared a bed with anyone.

“Good night, Red,” she said, pulling the sheet up to her neck. Beneath them, the residents of Goodneighbor slept, fucked and huffed their way through the night. Hyojin closed her eyes. It was out-of-character for her to be especially grateful or optimistic but that night, she was suddenly very thankful for a roof over her head, three locks on her door and a living, breathing person she liked in her bed. She sighed and grounded herself, remembering why she’d let Solji stay in the first place. “Get some sleep, okay? Tomorrow, we’re getting you to Lexington.”


	3. Baekhyun/Kyungsoo

They’d been staked out for nearly three hours, meaning it was officially too late for Baekhyun to admit that he had no idea what they were looking at.

Kyungsoo had the binoculars even though Kyungsoo had worse eyesight. What he lacked in literal vision, though, he more than made up for in the metaphorical sense. He was the brains of the operation. He had the ambition, the strategy, the problem-solving skills.

And, at current, he also had their bag of food.

Not that there was very much left. Baekhyun always knew when they were running low on supplies because Kyungsoo went from being snarky and short-tempered to being quiet and shifty.

Baekhyun never thought he’d miss Kyungsoo’s mocking quips but when he was silent and brooding? That’s when he knew they were in trouble.

Kyungsoo started getting quiet the night before. They had dinner (“dinner” was a cold can of expired spaghetti and a Dandy Boy apple that they’d split between the two of them) and Baekhyun noticed Kyungsoo wasn’t talking. That wasn’t uncommon _per se_ since Kyungsoo was a quiet guy but he wasn’t _responding_. Baekhyun would ask a question and Kyungsoo would just grunt and shrug. Baekhyun would say something stupid and Kyungsoo would just stare at the dirt. To test his theory, Baekhyun said something patently incorrect, something about deathclaws being mammals, and Kyungsoo didn’t even correct him.

That was when he knew they were out of food.

Kyungsoo told him in the morning. They slept inside a parking garage. That was their MO. They’d find a car that was parked somewhere relatively safe, Kyungsoo would pick the lock and they’d sleep inside, safe from exposure and most threats that roamed the wasteland.

“We’ve got nothing left,” he said. “A few pieces of jerky from last week, two cans of purified water and a lollipop we found at the park.”

Baekhyun had nodded in response.

“What do we do?”

Kyungsoo shrugged his slender shoulders and said, “The same thing we always do. We’ll manage.”

And now they were laying on their stomachs, hiding behind a bush, staring down a dilapidated Super Duper Mart and Baekhyun was trying to figure out what Kyungsoo was staring at.

It was another ten minutes before Baekhyun asked, very quietly, “Hey, Kyungsoo, why are we still laying here?”

“I don’t want to take any chances.”

Baekhyun looked around. They hadn’t seen a single creature – no man, woman, child, stray dog or diseased brahmin – in hours.

“Chances with what?”

Kyungsoo swallowed. There was a vein in his left temple that bulged when he was stressed and Baekhyun could see his friend’s heartbeat.

“We don’t know what’s in there.”

Baekhyun was dumbfounded.

“Do Kyungsoo, are you _afraid_?”

Kyungsoo punched him so hard in the shoulder that Baekhyun felt it in his legs.

“We’ve made it this far,” he said, his voice as low and as gravely as the packed earth beneath them. “I don’t want to die today at a fucking Super Duper Mart.”

Baekhyun rubbed his arm indignantly.

“But I’m hungry.”

Kyungsoo reached into the backpack and slapped down a plastic bag full of dried wing meat.

“Radroach jerky,” he said. “Bon appetit.”

Baekhyun frowned.

“Radroach jerky tastes like ass,” he murmured and Kyungsoo put down the binoculars long enough to roll his eyes.

“How the hell would you know?” he said. “What’s your point of reference? You been eating a lot of ass lately?”

Smirking, Baekhyun said, “I hope that’s rhetorical.” Kyungsoo didn’t smile but Baekhyun shoved him playfully as if he had. “No one has been around for hours. We’re alone. We’ve seen no movement in the windows. No one’s gone in or out. Let’s just go see for ourselves. Whatever happens, happens. Okay?”

Kyungsoo didn’t fight. His stomach must have been growling just as hard as Baekhyun’s.

They went for the side entrance. They were armed, but barely. Baekhyun had a Rockville Slugger and Kyungsoo a rusty pipe pistol. (They were down to 11 bullets, something Kyungsoo knew because Baekhyun liked to sit and count them, reaching #11 and then saying quietly, “11 isn’t enough,” as if Kyungsoo didn’t _know_ that 11 wasn’t enough.)

Kyungsoo had picked up a rock from the road and when they reached the side door, Kyungsoo popped his head around the corner, checked his angle and lobbed it inside. Baekhyun moved to enter but Kyungsoo stopped him with his arm, holding up one finger and signaling for him to wait. They listened carefully. They heard the rock bounce off a display and hit the floor but ten, twenty, thirty seconds went by in silence.

When he was confident that they were alone, Kyungsoo released his grip on Baekhyun, smiled the smallest of smiles and said, “Go crazy.”

And crazy Baekhyun went.

From the looks of the place, this particular Super Duper Mart had been ransacked before. More than once. Windows were shattered. Crushed glass, clumps of dirt and empty packages littered the aisles and the linoleum floor was stained with dirt and blood. The displays had been overturned, the cash registers destroyed, and certain raider and gunner gangs had broken in and spray-painted their names (and various threats) on the wall.

But, miraculously, there was food.

Not much, and not _good_ food, but there was food.

A few dented cans of Cram, two boxes of Fancy Lad snack cakes, one forgotten bottle of Nuka Cola.

Kyungsoo hurriedly stuffed whatever he could reach into their backpack, holstering his gun to free up both his hands. A box of InstaMash tucked behind a shelf, two packs of gumdrops under a conveyor belt, three cans of Pork ‘n’ Beans, one of which they couldn’t take because it was open and the beans had spoiled and turned grey.

“We’ve hit the jackpot,” Baekhyun told him. He ripped open a pack of gumdrops with his teeth and dropped two of them down his throat.

Kyungsoo’s grin was barely perceptible but it was there and Baekhyun saw it.

“It’s a small jackpot,” he admitted, “but it gets us through another few days, right?”

“And we’ll hunt,” Baekhyun told him. He made a pistol with his hand, closed his left eye, aimed for the window and clicked his tongue. “A nice radstag. I’d even take mole rat meat right now.”

“Hunting?” Kyungsoo said. He was digging through an old discount bin but, strangely enough, it was filled with only bones and trash. “With 11 bullets?”

Baekhyun smiled and shrugged.

“We’ll manage.” He finished the rest of the gumdrops, chewing loudly, then nodded his chin towards a door along the far wall. “Hey, what do you think is back there?”

Kyungsoo glanced back.

“Employee lounge?”

“Or,” Baekhyun suggested, “the stockroom.” His smile lit his face like a jack-o-lantern. “Think of all the goodies.”

“Okay,” Kyungsoo said slowly, “but before we go running in head-first–”

Baekhyun was already halfway there.

Kyungsoo grunted, scrambled out of the bin and took off after him.

“Think of the goodies!” he repeated. “Please, God, let there be alcohol.”

Before Kyungsoo could stop him, Baekhyun threw open the door. No sooner had his hand touched the doorknob than he was charged by two bloodbugs. In his haste, he’d left his Slugger back by the registers, and that meant Baekhyun had only his own two fists to defend himself against the pair of giant bloodthirsty monsters trying to sink their proboscises into his flesh.

Because he didn’t know what else to do, Baekhyun screamed. He screamed and he flailed, trying in vain to blindly club one of them just long enough to escape. But before he could make contact with either of them, a deep, searing pain tore through his thigh. He screamed louder. Before he could register what was happening, he was being sprayed with his own blood.

Baekhyun screamed in agony. His skin bubbled where the blood touched it. His vision grew spotty.

It was then that Kyungsoo appeared. He had Baekhyun’s Slugger. He swung with all his might, hitting one of the bloodbugs square in the body and sending it splattering into the opposite wall.

Through shrieks, Baekhyun managed to look up. Kyungsoo was brandishing his Slugger like he was stepping up to the plate of the 2027 World Series. The second bloodbug hovered, dazed for a moment, then lunged.

Kyungsoo didn’t miss a step.

It exploded into a fine mist, leaving blood, guts and an unusual brown goo in its wake.

“Jesus,” Kyungsoo mumbled, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Baekhyun was still screaming, though he’d become deaf to his own voice. He was bleeding from his thigh, his skin already beginning to blister. “Alright, buddy, hang in there. We’re going to–”

His stopped speaking when he heard it – a buzz coming from the back room. Faint at first, then monstrous. It only took Kyungsoo half-a-second to figure out that more bloodbugs were on the way and they didn’t have enough bullets or upper body strength to take them on.

But Kyungsoo didn’t plan to take them on at all.

He dropped the Slugger, tucked his arms beneath Baekhyun’s and pulled. He ran as fast as he could. Going backwards would have been hard enough without pulling Baekhyun _and_ without the massive horde of mutant insects in pursuit but Kyungsoo made decent time, tripping over debris and empty water jugs. Somehow, he managed to grab the backpack, only dropping a few cans of food on his way to the exit.

That was one good thing about bloodbugs – they couldn’t open doors.

He all but threw the backpack (and Baekhyun) out the front door, letting him roll through the dirt while he forced a cinderblock in front of the double doors. Had they left open the side entrance? Would the bloodbugs think to go through it? Kyungsoo didn’t want to stick around to find out.

He threw the backpack back over his shoulder and grabbed a whimpering Baekhyun, dragging him across the street and stashing him behind a burnt out car. He cupped his hand over Baekhyun’s mouth, silencing him as they waited for the fallout. Was there any buzzing? Had they made it out of the Super Duper Mart? Were they following them?

Kyungsoo counted to thirty, squeezing Baekhyun against him in an attempt at calming him down, then breathed a heavy sigh of relief when he realized they were safe.

He dropped his hand from Baekhyun’s mouth, then, unconsciously, rubbed it across Baekhyun’s head.

“Christ,” he panted. “For a second there, I thought you were a goner.” He reached up and touched the strap of their backpack. “I thought this was a goner, too.” He leaned his head back against the car, hand still in Baekhyun’s hair, and tried to catch his breath.

It hadn’t always been like this. They’d been safe once. They’d grown up together, been brought up in the same settlement, a mutfruit farm near Fort Hagen. Then, one day, gunners raided the farm. They killed the workers, slaughtered the animals and destroyed the crops. And when Kyungsoo and Baekhyun (then just seventeen-years-old) tried to fight back, they incapacitated them.

Kyungsoo and Baekhyun woke up somewhere in Salem two days later, hungry and bound, stripped of their armor and weapons, left only with each other.

And they’d only _had_ each other ever since.

The night they’d come to, Baekhyun had cried himself to the point of exhaustion. He missed his parents. He missed his brother. He missed his home. They were young, scared, vulnerable and completely alone. They had no food, no weapons, no roof over their heads, and the wasteland was filled with things that wanted them dead.

Kyungsoo held him while he sobbed, all the while uttering the same two words of comfort until Baekhyun fell asleep.

_“We’ll manage.”_

Kyungsoo often grew annoyed with Baekhyun. Baekhyun talked too much. He acted before thinking. He blew through their rations. But, whether he liked it or not, he was Kyungsoo’s best friend.

And Kyungsoo really didn’t want him to die.

When Baekhyun had finally calmed down (the pain hadn’t worn off but he was now officially in shock), Kyungsoo put his hand on his shoulder.

“How many times is that?” Kyungsoo asked.

In spite of the blood, Baekhyun smiled.

“Are we counting that time in the Museum of Witchcraft?”

Kyungsoo scoffed.

“Of course we are.”

“Then this makes six,” he said. He felt a little drunk. Maybe it was the blood loss, or maybe the radiation was setting in. “You have saved my life six times.”

“I thought it was seven,” Kyungsoo remarked. “What about when we squared off with those super mutants?”

Baekhyun made a _psh_ noise and waved his hand the best he could. His limbs felt shaky.

“You saved me from getting _maimed_ , maybe. But you didn’t save my life.”

Kyungsoo laughed. He slapped Baekhyun’s shoulder and said, “We’re going to get you to a doctor, okay? I think Diamond City is just a few miles north of here. What do we do?”

Baekhyun smiled weakly. He’d started sweating and his bangs were stuck to his forehead. He was trembling but it was hard to say whether it was from the pain, the radiation, the blood loss or from dehydration. But he shook when he reached for Kyungsoo’s hand, squeezing it as hard as he could.

He kissed Kyungsoo’s hand, a gesture of respect and gratitude and brotherly love, and he remembered all six (and a half) times that Kyungsoo had saved him from certain doom. It wasn’t the future he’d imagined for himself but it was the future he’d been given. And he wasn’t ready to give it up just yet. And Kyungsoo wasn’t done _saving_ him yet.

“Same thing we always do,” he said dreamily. “We’ll manage.”


End file.
